


What If...

by LuxEvergreen



Series: Happiness Is Only Real When Shared [6]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A journey has ended, F/M, Happy Ending, Post - A Dance With Dragons, Tarthgasam!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 09:33:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5864008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuxEvergreen/pseuds/LuxEvergreen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What if I forgave myself? I thought. What if I forgave myself even though I'd done something I shouldn't have? What if I was a liar and a cheat and there was no excuse for what I'd done other than because it was what I wanted and needed to do? What if I was sorry, but if I could go back in time I wouldn't do anything differently than I had done? [...] What if yes was the right answer instead of no? What if what made me do all those things everyone thought I shouldn't have done was what also had got me here? What if I was never redeemed? What if I already was?”<br/>― Cheryl Strayed, Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail</p>
            </blockquote>





	What If...

**Author's Note:**

> Q: Is this the end of this series?  
> A: Yep!
> 
> Q: Does this mean you're going to finish 'Walk with Frost and Fire" now?  
> A: Oh yeah. At long last, I'm finally gonna finish my beautiful bastard!

Tossed among the swelling blue waves, a humble trading cog sailed with the buoyancy of a tenacious wine cork. Beneath the deck there was a small cabin that reeked of pickled cabbage and animal dung; inside, Brienne of Tarth held up a dull pair of grooming shears that was on loan from a crew member on board. A brass oil lamp swung haphazardly overhead, floating and swaying with the rhythm of the creaky boat. Once the swells started to ease, the Lady of Tarth decided it would be a good of time as any to start trimming Jaime’s shaggy beard.

With intense focus, Brienne raised the steel blades up to his neck with a slight wince of apprehension; she unknowingly held her breath while preparing to make the first cut. Just as she was about close the shears beneath his chin, Jaime’s face started to wrinkle with impatience; there was a sudden itch that needed to be scratched.

“Hold. _Still_.”

It was no use; trying to stave off nervous laughter, Jaime wriggled his nose for a long time before finally giving up. Without warning he slipped his fingers over his face and scratched the tip of his nose with a deep sigh of relief.

“Seven hells; _Jaime Lannister!_ ” A bright, devilish smile curled over his lips; he tried not to laugh from the sight of Brienne’s frown. “Keep _still_ or I’ll be forced to hold you down.” Seated across from each other on the cabin bed, Jaime glanced at Brienne with a slight wag of his eyebrows. He tried not to smirk once his voice dropped down to a warm, seductive drawl. “ _Well…_ As I seem to recall, we both know that you’re more than capable...”

Without intention, Brienne felt her eyes lock onto Jaime’s suggestive glare. Though she held the blades close to his face, it did not stop him from throwing a dark, salacious glance down the front of her tunic. She tried to look annoyed but she couldn’t deny the spark of arousal that started to flicker within. After a while, her stern face began to soften as the warm memories of their recent lovemaking flooded her mind. With a shy grin, Brienne started to carefully trim at his beard with a knowing quirk of the cheek and a flirtatious murmur. “I want you to be presentable tonight. It’s hard enough for me to manage on this boat, never mind having you squirm about as well.”

“Hmmmph.” A dismissive snort of dry laughter suddenly caught Brienne off guard. “In spite of the countless ways I’ve defiled the maid of Tarth—still, she remains an innocent.” Brienne glanced at him in confusion; Jaime let out a sigh of defeat before he expanded further on his conclusion. “Short hair, long hair; matted hair, plaited hair; trimmed beard, gnarled beard… No matter how presentable I may seem, the outcome will always remain the same: he’s going to hate me.”

A fine dusting of coarse facial hair littered Brienne’s hand, sliding down the length of her arm with a faint, shivery tickle. As the brass oil lamp swung above them, Brienne furrowed her brow in a thoughtful silence while she tried to ignore Jaime’s searching gaze. 

“Oh please wench, your comforting assurances to me are far too cloying— _ouch_!” His sarcastic rebuke ended with a sharp, playful tug on his uneven beard.

“You have _not_ defiled me. I chose you just as much as you chose me.” From the corner of her eyes Brienne could see Jaime nervously flex his hand open and close while he stared down at his lap in a nervous, boyish manner. “And he won't hate you.”

Jaime’s self-doubt quickly glazed into a challenge once he raised his pine green eyes up at her. “And how are you so certain of this? Did my lady of Tarth write to her lord father before we set sail? Did you try to convince him not to brain me with a war hammer while I sleep or did you—”

“I don’t have to convince him of anything, _ser_.” Brienne’s voice sliced through the petulant tone of Jaime’s lament; startled by her, his dubious eyes began to soften while she continued her grooming, speaking to him in a soft, thoughtful cadence. “My father is many things Jaime, but spiteful isn’t one of them. He can be cold and he’s often quiet. He’s stubborn to a fault and he might be a man of few words...but he always listens, no matter who is speaking.”

For a long time the cool sound of Brienne’s blades—carefully snipping and clipping—filled their small cabin while the winds outside whistled and the churning waves rushed about them. Jaime ruminated on Brienne’s words, weighing her vow against the stories she once told him about her father. “He may listen… Except for when his only child wants to sing for him.”

His exact words sliced Brienne quick and to the bone. Pressing her lips together in a thin line, she completed her thought in a mumbled rebuttal. “Well… There’s always an exception to every rule.”

“So said the oathkeeper to the oathbreaker.” Jaime didn’t expect for her to hear his soft reply.

Brienne glanced at him through the long strands of his greasy hair with pointed eyes and a correcting tone. “So said the _stubborn wench_ to her _oathkeeper_.”

A lax, darling smile crossed his face once her long fingers started to playfully dance over his scalp. He responded in a soft laugh that was grazed by the long shadows of denial. “I’m not an honorable man.”

“If you keep insisting that you’re not an honorable man then I will insist that I’m not a wench.” Jaime’s flashing smile melted like ice to a flame; stilling her careful trimming, he leaned in and spoke to her in a warm, honeyed whisper. “No. You're _my_ wench.” A soft gasp slipped past Brienne’s thick lips. Feeling roused by his low voice she bashfully slinked a deft hand over his thigh while bringing her lips closer to his wanting mouth. “Then that makes you _my_ oathkeeper.”

Sweet, teasing pecks melded into a slow burn of want. Though they wanted nothing more than to live inside of that kiss forever, Brienne slowly dragged her lips away with great reluctance; as tempted as they were to take things further, she turned her focus back to trimming his beard with a charmed flush to her cheeks. Trying hard not to fidget, Jaime felt his gaze drift over Brienne’s long and blushing neck. “When did you first cut your hair?”

Every snip of the blades started to glide closer to his cheek; focused on not wanting to hurt him, Brienne answered his question in a slow reply. “The morning I left Tarth. Word was sent to Evenfall, informing us that Renly’s host was assembling at Highgarden. My last night at home I kissed my father goodnight with long hair that fell down to my tailbone. The next morning I said ‘goodbye’ to him with all of my hair clipped down to my chin.”

Jaime tried to imagine the Maid of Tarth with long, golden curls wrapped up into a loose, idyllic braid; for some reason, he imagined a sprig of pink geraniums tucked behind her ear as well. In spite of his best efforts to conjure up such a vision, he privately assumed that such hair would have done little to soften all of her distinguished features. “What did you do with your hair?”

An awkward smile on her lips quickly turned into bright laughter that filled their cabin. “I was a silly girl; I decided it would be romantic to throw my braid into the fire.” Jaime smiled with quiet laughter. “That was the last time I’ve ever made that horrible mistake.” With that, they started to laugh together like sneaky children that were hiding in the shadows; with aching cheeks Brienne continued while Jaime tried to swallow his smile. “The smell of burnt hair was so horrid the servants had to open every window in the south wing just to get the stench out.”

After a long while Brienne studied Jaime in the dim light of the swinging lamp; she finally asked him a question in a casual, impersonal tone. “Are you nervous?”

Moments passed; after a while his faint voice was hardly discernible. “I'm scared witless.” Brienne wanted to scoff but she knew better than to mock such an intimate confession; instead, she nodded her head slowly before she replied. “I’ve see you fight off white walkers, direwolves…even a bloody dragon…and I never once saw you flinch.”

“White walkers, direwolves and dragons can't be reasoned with, love.” Even Jaime could hear the self-conscious edge to his rueful chuckle. “Not even the Mad King could be reasoned with. But your father...your father on the other hand….” Jaime was reluctant to continue.

Brienne suddenly had an idea. “Do you trust me?”

Jaime didn't even have to think about it. “I trust you.”

“Then tell him the truth.” Her answer felt too naive, too simple; he tried to fight back a wince of skepticism but ultimately failed. Brienne lifted her fingers to stroke his neck, caressing the lobe of his ear with her thumb while she locked eyes onto him. “ _He will listen to you_.” Jaime slowly nodded his head with downcast eyes; Brienne sighed before she poured all of her attention back into grooming his gnarled and matted beard with feathery hands. “The gods decided long ago that it would be my father’s ill fortune to raise me as his only heir—for a long time we both knew what I was...and wasn't: I was a fighter— _a good one_ , but I was never intended to be a beauty. Not an ideal bride for any man.”

Those poor choice of words suddenly wounded Jaime’s heart. “ _Other men.”_

Brienne froze. There was a singular romance to Jaime's firm objection; she could feel her blades start to tremble for a moment. “ _Other men…_ Yes. For all my life, my father had to endure a torrent of lies from repugnant suitors and false men just because they wanted Tarth rather than me. If you lie he is going to see right through you. But if you're honest...if you speak your truth, then I know he will respect you for it.”

While Brienne swept away the loose hairs from his neck, Jaime suddenly longed for the lazy days they once shared at the inn. It was only a fortnight ago. Everything felt so simple then, so perfect. He sighed. The cold dread of meeting the Evenstar started to feel like a dense shiver that crawled inside the marrow of his bones. He glanced at Brienne with a false, wan smile; Brienne gave him a warm smile in turn. Jaime’s eyes fell back down and glared at the puckered end of his right arm.

_I can always pretend..._

\---------------------

For several days following the announcement of winter’s end, there was little need for either Jaime or Brienne to leave their room at the inn. Long, sunny hours were lost to them between the dark sheets of their warmed bed. Gasping confessions of both love and lust were mumbled into the flushed skin of the other while moans and shallow panting spoke the rest on their behalf. They were not in a hurry to leave, but once word had spread that the men of the Night’s Watch were preparing to head back to the Wall, they both knew it was time for them to go. Once the black brothers had departed it was certain that Lannister forces would flood the township in their wake.

Looking back at the inn with a twist of sentiment wringing his heart, Jaime slowly followed Brienne’s path out of town before they returned to the cool and shaded trails. Hand in hand, with wide and easy smiles they carried on—together. Even after all this time, they were still searching for answers.

Although the great war ended nearly five months ago, it was still impossible for either one to know what became of the seven kingdoms, much less who even ruled them now. News of the capitol was always a frustrating mix of truth spoiled by half-truths, tall tales, wild speculation and foul rumors. Many said the dragon queen died in battle shortly after her last dragon fell. Others said she ruled the seven kingdoms now, seated high on a throne made of skulls while she drank the blood of her enemies from a gilded chalice. Others claimed she simply disappeared as suddenly as she appeared, never to return to Westeros following the end of the war. It felt impossible to find a single person who could offer up a scrap of veracity. All that was know for certain was that Tommen Baratheon had safely been exiled from King’s Landing following the death of his mother, and that was news given to them both by Genna Lannister herself.

With all of the coin they scraped together, they secured passage onto a small trading ship that was bound for Estermont with a brief stop at Tarth. Just as they were boarding the ship, Jaime saw something strange: drifting close to the docks, a familiar looking boat, both lavish and ornate, was making its way to settle into port. It was the _Sweet Joanna_ ; a handsome, golden dromond Tywin Lannister had commissioned for his wife in celebration of the birth of Jaime and his twin sister. He was surprised; last he heard, the _Sweet Joanna_ was across the narrow sea caught in some skirmish with members of the Gold Company. 

_My mother returns at the hour of her son’s departure…_ As Brienne carefully made her way off the gangplank, Jaime smiled up at her from the main deck and offered her a chivalrous hand to help her aboard. _Perhaps it’s my mother’s way of granting me her blessing._

Inside the bowels of the creaking boat, with the sound of churning waves and the groan of hempen rope pulled taut by lashing winds, Brienne curled up close to Jaime’s side in exhausted relief. Shortly after the boat left the harbor, something felt terribly wrong to her. Jaime was eerily calm; he almost seemed too placid, too quiet.

It eventually dawned on her what was wrong; she was seated next to the man who had finally lost everything. He turned his back on his family, his birthright and his knighthood; he had even lost the few scraps of honor he managed to claim on his own. And now, as a Kingslayer, a useless, one handed knight, a traitor to his family and a fugitive on the run, all that remained to him were the rags on his back and just a handful of copper stars in his pocket. And to make matters worse, Jaime now lost the only home he ever knew.

Worried for him, Brienne wrapped her palm around the end of his right arm and squeezed him tight. Jaime tried to smile but he failed. Instead, she lifted up his scarred wrist to her mouth and gave it a full and loving kiss. Moved by this, he slinked his right arm around her shoulders and buried his face into her hair, choking back on an emotion he couldn't quite understand. As his left arm wrapped around her head to pull her closer, Brienne buried her face close to his chest while his fingers started to rhythmically stroke her hair. In the tense silence, she started to worry her lower lip.

 _There was a time when I had nothing and Jaime had everything._ Brienne nuzzled his chest while Jaime let out a watery sigh. _I can't give him everything he lost, but maybe I can give him something he’s always wanted..._

As the seas below tossed about and the crew above spat insults to each other, Jaime finally realized with a dull ache in his chest that he would never live to see Casterly Rock again. Objectively, the emotion was an absurd one; he hadn't been back to the Westerlands since the War of the Five Kings. And although he’d sworn vehemently that he would never become the lord of the Rock, once their boat made its way into the open sea, he knew with certainty that he’d never set foot on those lands again.

Just then, the idea of home formed a strange lump in his throat; trying hard to ignore such a confusing emotion he began to nuzzle Brienne’s tangled hair to distract himself; he scratched the back of his head, he rubbed his eyes; he tried hard to clear his tight and uncomfortable throat. After a while he looked down at Brienne and watched her sleep. He consoled himself, thinking that it wouldn’t matter if he never saw Casterly again. He had Brienne; she was going to be the only home he’d ever need. Soon afterwards, Jaime fell asleep right beside her.

For better or worse, they were finally going home.

\--------------------

When they first arrived, they were greeted by the maester of Evenfall who promptly escorted Lady Brienne and Jaime to an abandoned stone cottage on the west shore of the island. It was a relief for Jaime not to meet the Evenstar that night, but for Brienne it was an ache of regret not to see her Lord father. The maester told her that Lord Selwyn was called away to be of service in King’s Landing. A council of maesters from the Citadel had assembled there, requesting the presence of every lord to meet in the capitol for a moon’s turn and address a matter of great importance. As for what it was, not even the maester could say.

Once they reached their destination, little could be seen in the dead of night. For hundreds of years, the Targaryen’s harbored a grand fleet of war dromonds on the west shore of Tarth in the event of war. Since Robert's rebellion however, there was no longer a desire for a war fleet to be kept there; as a result, it left most of the royal harbor to become a desolate, ghostly land. All that remained, other than a long, abandoned dock that was sun bleached and creaky, was the boat master’s vacant lodge. It was a quaint, modest keep, tucked away between the redwood forest and the sandy white coastline. It was a striking, half-timbered dwelling, framed by great redwood beams in the wattle and daub fashion; along the first floor of the cottage, the homestead was cobbled together by large and colorful river stones.

Inside, the residence was freshly swept and dusted; they were greeted by a roaring fire in a grand hearth and a leafy row of potted geranium resting on every dark windowsill in the house. Great piles of fur blankets were found scattered all throughout the cottage; food was in abundant supply, as well as clean water, ale and wine. All was quiet, comfort and bliss but with one exception: a lone, feral cat with green eyes and ginger colored fur hissed at the strangers who dared to invade his cozy home. 

“Lady Brienne.” Both Jaime and Brienne turned around to find the maester waiting patiently by the front door. “If we depart at present we will arrive at Evenfall before dawn.” Jaime felt the blood start to drain from his freshly groomed face. Without a glance towards him, Brienne reached out to grab his cold hand with a firm conviction.

“The Lady of Tarth will remain at the cottage with Ser Jaime.” The maester’s old, leathery face fell slack in quiet surprise. Feeling smug, Jaime smirked at the thunderstruck maester while his chest started to swell with a Lannister’s pride. “When my lord father returns, please inform him that he may find me here...along with Ser Jaime.” Muttering out his reluctant agreements, the maester assured Lady Brienne that he would honor her request and soon departed.

With the front door closed and barred at last, Brienne leaned her back against the locked entryway and looked at Jaime with bright bluebell eyes and a warm, flushed smile.

Every step he made towards her became more confident than the last. As his only hand fell onto her waist, the end of his right arm tried to stroke her ruined cheek. Jaime’s mouth slowly fell down upon hers, kissing her as if it were for the first time. Brienne felt her knees start to fold like ribbons of dark molasses once her waiting mouth tangled with Jaime’s sweet and languid lips.

\----------------------

Simple days melded together into a peaceful, timeless harmony; nearly a fortnight had passed since they were smuggled onto the white sands of Tarth. Between long walks among the icy shores and the winding trails of the snow covered forests, Brienne and Jaime were amazed to know tranquility after so many years of war. The silence was deafening, the peace felt strange; it was without a doubt that neither one would have been able to adjust to a world without conflict if it hadn't been for the other. It was indeed a puzzling notion for them to absorb: they no longer had to focus on the primal instinct to fight and survive each day; they were now allowed to simply live. 

As they lived, many days were spent together talking, laughing or making love. In between such hours, Jaime was content in reading a large tome on the history of Tarth while Brienne enjoyed solitude outside. As he flipped through the glassine pages of the leather bound book, Jaime wondered where his best friend was once he noticed how quiet the cabin had grown. To his far right, through the leaded glass panels of their bedroom, he saw Brienne standing outside on the great stone balcony.

She had on a great fur blanket wrapped around her shoulders, peacefully watching the waves crash while long, redwood branches swayed and creaked in the blustering winds. As of late she had been spending a lot of time out there, always gazing out towards the rolling sea, staring at some hazy, distant point that only she could find. Before he reached out his fingers to tap on the glass and wave ‘hi’, the feral tabby jumped onto the windowsill, desperately crying out in need of attention. _Not again…_

Setting down his book, Jaime weaved his arms around the potted geraniums, trying to extract the obnoxious cat with narrowed eyes and a small growl of annoyance; he was having a hard enough time concentrating on his book, never mind the unwanted distractions of a feral cat. 

“Lill’ beast.”

While the annoying mouser scampered away, chattering and mewling like an obstinate child, Jaime saw to the mess the furry cretin left in its wake. A few of the green, heart shaped leaves from the geraniums were found scattered all over. As he began to clean up the mess up, Jaime inadvertently snapped one of the leaves in half with his fingers; instantly, the woody scent of the leaf flooded his nose and surrounded him in precious memories:

It was the zesty tang of lemongrass and the bountiful rays of sunshine; it was the dark, seductive fragrance of mossy stones found tucked inside the folds of cool shadows. It was the enticing smell of loamy soil: dark, rich and somehow, complexly sweet. It was the alluring scent of raindrops, resting precariously on emerald-green geranium leaves, leaving the air fragrant with its spicy perfume. It was the smell of a homecoming, the unforgettable perfume of the gardens at Casterly: a lush, peaceful land, unspoiled by famine, disease or war. It was the one place where he would go to hide from everyone when he was a child. It was where he helped Tyrion learn how to read and it was there he slept the night his mother died, tucked away beneath the low hanging branches of the flowering tree she loved.

It was innocence, it was safety, it was comfort and it was beloved.

 _It was Brienne_.

Sweet relief claimed Jaime’s mind. He wondered how many nights he spent burying his nose at the back of her neck, wondering—obsessing—what her scent reminded him of. _Home…_ he thought as he tucked away the cracked geranium leaf into his pocket. _She smells like home._

Sparked by the joy of finally knowing her scent, Jaime walked outside onto the stone ledge and wrapped his arms around her from behind, pulling her close to his thumping chest. She hummed her greetings to him once the warmth of his arms surrounded her. With a deep sniff at the back of her neck Brienne started to laugh once his nose burrowed closer to her ear. She slowly turned around in his arms to face him with nervous blue eyes and a blushing, awkward smile.

“I—I’ve been thinking lately. And—I’ve given my decision a lot of thought. If...if you wanted...you could...” She licked her lower lip slowly with shuddering nerves; Jaime watched her pink tongue flash over her mouth with the wide eyes of a starved predator. Her voice finally returned to him in a low and gentle murmur. “...you could...finish _inside of me_ , if you wanted.” 

For a long time Jaime stared at Brienne, stoic and unblinking; he watched her carefully, wondering if he was somehow lost inside the fog of dreams, fearful that he might have misunderstood her. In all of the times they had coupled, not once did Jaime spill inside her; they were cautious, fearful of getting her with child during such uncertain times. As fugitives, they fought and scrambled to survive each day, both knew that a pregnancy would only complicate matters further. But now… Now that they were home, now that Brienne felt grounded and safe, it suddenly dawned on Jaime:

_She wants to have my child..._

Once the gravity of her words settled into his heart, Jaime felt it skip a beat while his body stirred with a primitive call. Before she could say anything else, his mouth crashed onto hers in a bright flash of searing love. Losing herself to the dark pull of his all-encompassing kiss, Brienne slowly pulled her mouth away from his bruising lips with a sudden need of air. With her eyes still closed she felt surrounded by his love while hot kisses were pressed onto her neck, her temple and on her ravaged cheek, all the while she heard him chant to her in a precious whisper.

_“I love you. I love you.”_

Between fevered kisses and indulgent groans, Brienne led Jaime backwards into the cottage while they slowly began to undress one another. For every piece of skin that was unveiled, a sweet, gentle kiss was garnered there in its place.

They moved together slowly while the nervous rush of love started to claim their bodies. Every time Jaime’s body became one with hers, it felt like a fragment of his innocence was finally being restored to him; the poisonous love he once knew was slowly being leeched from his pummeled heart. For every kiss, every loving touch and soothing word she spoke, he could feel himself begin to heal. Her bright laughter and her beautiful smiles became the only absolution he wanted. Once the back of his head sank deep into the pillows he gave her a warm smile and let out a deep sigh.

_Perhaps her love is the greatest redemption I’ll know._

Though it was now likely that they would never meet their end with a sword on the field of battle, Jaime was now convinced that no matter how his life should end, so long as he had Brienne's love he would still die a hero.

As Brienne primed her body over his, Jaime couldn’t breathe from the very sight of her. She was so strong but looked so fragile; such an innocent and yet so wild. Impaling herself upon his aching cock, she carefully rode his body with a breathy gasp and a flushing grace. She was so focused and strong, stubborn and mule-like; her wide shoulders sloped up and down as she mounted him with a hard, thoughtful restraint. The sounds of her soft grunts and breathy gasps thrilled him. He wanted it all—every sound she could make—and he intended to discover them in the thousand little ways he had yet to know her still.

The first time she rode him was inside their cabin on the trading cog; Jaime felt unhinged by her; all he could do was grab a hold of Brienne’s thigh while he mumbled breathlessly of his love. He realized then how much he loved the feeling of being overpowered by her. For all of his life he played so many roles: he was a knight, a Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, a soldier, and of course, an untouchable Lannister. He was groomed to always be strong, unflinching and in control of everything that surrounded him. But now, with Brienne, it felt amazing to finally dismantle all of that conceit for someone like her—someone he trusted, someone he loved—it was a liberating experience for him: to only feel instead of having to control; to submit rather than having to dominate.

In their bedroom, under the warm rays of sunshine, he watched his lady move above him while the scent of her skin—like wet geranium leaves and sunny lemongrass—filled his nose and made him feel safe and comforted. A deep flush of arousal started to bloom across her chest while her hips started to increase its pace, pulling Jaime deeper into herself with the raw pulse of a primal greed. Suddenly she paused while a small whimper of protest quickly fell from his lips; he gaped at her with unblinking eyes and a slack jaw. Before long he started to rut impatiently beneath her, desperate to see her unravel. After one sweet roll of his hips Brienne slammed her eyes shut and groaned hard; she quickly dropped her strong hands onto his body—one on his chest, the other at his waist—and pressed him into total submission on the feather mattress. With just enough force she finally held his body still.

" _Mine_." 

Jaime was stunned to hear Brienne's softly growl out the word above him; she was so possessive, so sincere. Her breathing turned shallow while his lungs began to gasp from the suddenly thinning air. He knew she was close to reaching her end; keeping his hips completely still, she rocked herself over his body—again and again—with her lower lip caught between her straining teeth; Jaime released a broken sigh in total surrender. Brienne spoke once more, this time in a breathless, ladylike voice.

" _Mine_."

Feeling his cock begin to swell, Jaime whispered in turn once she started to ride him harder; his soft voice hitched and trembled in his throat while his peaking arousal began to smolder throughout his tense body. " _Yours…”_ Brienne moaned once she heard him finally respond; Jaime’s shaking voice answered hers once more in a deep, guttural pitch. “... _it's yours._ "

With only a few more thrusts she met her end, moaning out her hard completion with a wet, pulsing flutter of her cunt. Trembling above him, sighing through heavy breaths, Brienne started to wilt inside of a storming wave of pleasure. Keyed up and tense, Jaime sat up and held onto her hip, gasping and grunting as he pumped into her shuddering, tender body. He softly chanted her name, promising her that he would always be hers. At long last, Jaime felt his seed release deep inside of her. A dense groan filled the room. Spent and elated, he wrapped his trembling arms around her, pulling her close to his chest while holding on tight. Lost inside the warm throes of transcendence he wanted nothing more than to live inside of that moment forever.

Time lost all meaning to them; each hour mysteriously slipped by like unforgiving minutes. Curled up in each other’s arms, Brienne rested her head possessively onto Jaime's shoulder. In between dozing naps and slow returns to their lovemaking, the two exchanged chaste kisses with one another without words or haste. Their afterglow was a lazy, golden time filled with tender nuzzling and teasing caresses while only the softest words of love were whispered to each other like guarded secrets. He felt her toes play with his under the heavy fur blankets; their legs twined effortlessly together like strands of rope twisting in the pull of a gently lapping shoreline. Their hands and fingers were always searching one another; laughter and gasps were expressed by both in equal measure. In this small room of this humble cottage all was comfort, peace and acceptance. It was perfect.

With her body coiled tight to Jaime's side, resting her head on his broad chest, Brienne happily playing with his fingers while occasionally tickling his inner wrist with a coy, teasing laugh. All throughout this, Jaime watched Brienne's face with a wide smile, delighting himself in all of the subtle facial expressions she made while his fingers started to play with hers in turn. For one gilded moment he felt his heart begin swell in complete happiness; grateful beyond measure he closed his eyes and turned his face to sink a firm, loving kiss into Brienne's curling hair.

And right at that moment...the door to their bedroom had swung wide open.

Brienne's father had finally returned from King’s Landing.

\----------------------------

Little sleep was had that night.

With discretion, Jaime watch Brienne while she tried to have a conversation with her father outside in the gardens; neither one raised their voices above the roar of the coast nearby. After a few minutes, the Evenstar had left her. Brienne lingered outside for a spell, watching the golden trails of sunlight make its final bow while the violet-blue skies reached out to embrace the jet black horizon. He wanted to go outside to be with her but he had learned when to give her privacy; he knew she would come to him when she was ready to talk.

Over glasses of mulled wine and pale faces, Brienne said little about the brief conversation she had with her father. The most she could say, other than ‘I don’t know’, was that Lord Selwyn wanted to speak with Jaime tomorrow morning at the Marble Cove.

The next day, he left Brienne with a flirtatious wink and a small kiss on her lips before he had set out. Brienne knew he was feigning confidence, but she remained quiet regardless. With a nervous smile, she remained at the threshold to the cottage until Jaime could be seen no more.

He made his way down the sandy dunes and the tall banks of grass while a fine, gray mist hung over the still waters of the cove; from there he could faintly see a man standing at the base of a cliff that was surrounded by thin redwood trees. Once Jaime walked closer he could see through the gauze of mist a slate grey mare quietly nibbling on grass while its rider stroked her thick and glossy neck.

_For once, I can pretend..._

It was obvious that Lord Selwyn of Tarth was a formidable man; tall and imposing, he had pale skin and a full head of silver-gold hair, framing the sweet sadness of Brienne's astonishing blue eyes. Dressed in a dark blue outer tunic with the blazon of Tarth sewn onto his left chest, he wore an impressive black cloak trimmed in fur that made him look both striking and dignified. In spite of his fresh clothes, trimmed hair and recent bath, Jaime still felt beggarly and inadequate in the eyes of the proud lord.

 _...I can pretend that I’m a good and honorable man._

A booming echo of distant waves seemed almost deafening once their eyes had finally locked; making his way closer, Jaime tried to read the Evenstar’s blank expression while the lord offered up a hand in formal greeting. Not wanting to overthink things, Jaime offered up his only hand in turn. Awkward moments ensued; with no contact made, Brienne's father finally looked down—it was then he understood his sizeable faux pas; he saw Jaime try to conceal the savage end of his disfigured arm. Embarrassed, the Evenstar cleared his throat with a nervous blush before switching hands to receive Jaime’s. 

“My lord.” 

The Lord of Evenfall gave Lannister a modest nod. “Ser Jaime. I know it goes without saying that it was a surprise to meet you under such... _circumstances_...”

Jaime cringed while a flash of nerves suddenly claimed his mind. “Indeed—as would any father might if he were to find his daughter in bed with—” Selwyn’s eyes began to peel open in disbelief; Jaime started to panic. “I mean...my lord, your daughter—the maid...L-Lady Brienne—it was a, uh…” Without knowing, Jaime started to laugh nervously as he spoke; his words began to falter once Selwyn’s firm handshake quickly morphed into an iron grip. Holding back a grimace of pain, the crippled lion changed the subject once he felt his fingers start to twist around each other like thin tapers of softened candle wax. “It’s an honor to meet you, my lord.”

With that, Jaime’s only hand was blessedly set free; discreetly flexing it behind his back, he watched the Lord of Tarth size him up with a remote gaze of indifference. The Evenstar never met the Kingslayer before, he only saw him a few times from a distance, either on some tourney field or during a royal procession. Though he was a handsome man, with clear eyes and golden head, he still puzzled over the man Brienne had chosen—this…man without honor.

Lannister muttered out some pleasantries while blood slowly returned to his aching hand. “I trust that your voyage was uneventful?”

Only the distant cry of seagulls answered him; after a while, Selwyn finally replied. “Indeed—the voyage was without event...” The Evenstar’s voice dropped down to a low murmur. “Although the same can’t be said for my homecoming.” Jaime felt his sheepish eyes drift off to the side while the Lord of Tarth continued. “I understand that you were told that I was in King’s Landing.” Lannister nodded his head like a little boy receiving a lecture. “However, what you or Brienne _don’t_ know is why I’m here.” Jaime’s forehead started to pucker in confusion. Selwyn continued.

“After the war, when the dust had settled and all of the fires guttered out, word spread throughout the capital that you turned your back on your family and betrayed the Lannister host, choosing to align yourself with the Night’s Watch instead.” Jaime briefly nodded his head while he felt the Lord's eyes bore into him. “I must say...I was impressed, but I didn’t believe it. Not at first. That is until I heard several reports that my daughter was last seen with you, fleeing the Wall together after the last dragon fell.” 

Jaime’s anxieties began to fracture once his curiosity took reign. “Who rules in King’s Landing then?” Brienne’s father sighed with a small frown. “No one—King’s Landing is little more than a fire scorched ruin; the iron throne is no more.” Jaime persisted in spite of his nerves. “And what of Daenerys?”

“Last seen on a ship bound for the ruins of Valyria. A silk merchant saw her boat in passing near the Smoking Sea; she wasn’t alone... she was with your brother, Tyrion.” It felt as if though the sand beneath Jaime’s feet was starting to wash away. His mouth fell open while his head swam in a confusing tidal of doubt and sweet relief. With a cautious smile, Jaime heard his words slip past his mouth in guarded joy. “Tyrion lives?”

The Evenstar shrugged. “Last I heard. He means to make himself a new home there; him, Daenerys...even a few citizens of Westeros decided to sail with them to reclaim the Valyrian Freehold.” Jaime’s smile bloomed to life; with an incredulous shake of his head, he heard Lord Selwyn continue while blood raced in his ears. “I suppose once you’ve seen dragons brought back from the dead, one might be convinced that even the ruins of Valyria can rise from the ashes as well.”

He wanted to laugh; he felt like crying. Scrubbing his hand over his slack face, Jaime continued with a small shudder to his voice. “So who rules instead?” Selwyn watched the Kingslayer’s face with genuine interest.

“A Great Council was formed; maesters of the Citadel had the Lord's make a decision with a vote. It's been decided; we have elected to return the seven kingdoms back to its original form.” Lannister's eyebrows shot up in disbelief. “The North is ruled by Rickon Stark. Sansa Stark would have ruled the Vale...but she died giving birth; her son now rules, only in name. Asha Greyjoy is of the Iron Islands. Mace Tyrell is for the Reach, the Riverlands is for Jonos Bracken, and Dorne is for Arianne Martell. As for the Westerlands, King Tommen has given up his rightful seat at Storm’s End; he has chosen to rule at Casterly instead.” Jaime’s face turned soft in wonder. _My son…_ Clenching his jaw with a slow calculation, Jaime spoke again in numb confusion. “And who rules the Stormlands?” With those words, the Evenstar let out a deep and encumbered sigh.

“ _That_ is why I’m here. The Baratheon name is all but extinct, and Dragonstone is no more. As for who rules the Stormlands? _Well…”_ Lord Selwyn winced. “The Great Council has chosen me. _”_

Jaime felt the hairs on his neck start to rise like gooseflesh. Reading the dread in the Kingslayer’s face, Lord Selwyn's eyes fell to look at the sand between his boots; his silver head hung low in weary duty. He continued in a soft, disgusted voice. “I don’t want to rule—I never wanted a bloody crown—but out of respect for the Great Council I told them I needed some time to think before I made a final decision. I was prepared to say no… But it wasn't until I walked in on you two last night...I realized _then_ that my decision was already made for me.”

Jaime remembered the look of horror he saw on his face the moment he invaded their room. Between the long trails of their clothing strewn about the floor to the thick musk of sex that lingered in the chamber, there was no doubt what had transpired only moments ago. Jaime never felt any regret for taking Brienne's maidenhead, but still, it wounded him to see her face while she hastily got dressed to speak to her father outside. Reliving those frantic moments again, Jaime began to wonder why the Evenstar didn't geld him when they first met. Perplexed, he tried to formulate his thoughts into a question but was cut off by Selwyn's pointed tone.

“There’s still a bounty on your head, ser; a rather sizeable one too.” Selwyn's eyes burned bright with frustration. “Tommen may be a sweet king, but he is being pressured by his bannermen to make an example of you for your treason. If any other lord in the Stormlands takes up the crown, they will root you out and ship your head back to Casterly without question.”

It was odd; for all of his life, not once did Jaime fear his own death. But now—now that he had finally lost everything, he'd come to realize that he was a man who was now free to become anything. And for the first time in Jaime's life, with such beautiful freedom, he finally recognized the fear of his own mortality. 

There is a raw and wild beauty that is born of losses such as his. From the charred bones and ashes of his former life, something was born that was both precious and liberating to him. Jaime now had the freedom to choose; the freedom to become the man he always wanted to be. And it wasn't until then did Jaime realize all that he wanted: he wanted to love and be loved in return; he wanted to share the rest of his life with Brienne; he wanted to sire her children and become the father he always wanted to be. He wanted to have a long life and to know what true happiness was... finally. 

But without Lord Selwyn's protection, Jaime understood that he would lose everything before a dream was realized. Selwyn’s liquid blue eyes stared off at a distance with the sound of a defeated sigh; the lord spoke once more with the shadows of a faint smile ringing his lips.

“But for my daughter...only for my daughter will I take up the _damned, bloody crown._.” The surge of relief suddenly made Jaime feel lightheaded. Selwyn turned back around and glanced at Lannister with unseeing eyes. “Once I’m coronated I will treat with King Tommen in the presence of the Great Council. From there I will sue for peace; all of Westeros is devastated by this war, _we’re all tired of fighting_.

“He will agree to the terms that I’ll present—provided that you relinquish all of your rights to Casterly and vow to never set foot off of Tarth again. _Ever_. This way Tommen can rule the Westerlands in peace, he can also save his uncle’s life, all the while appeasing his bannermen who cry out for your blood.”

“My lord—I...I’m—” Jaime nearly choked on his own words. “I’m moved by your leniency.” Shrugging, Jaime licked his lips as he tried to think of words to say. “I know you must hate me—”

“I don't—I don’t hate you.” Each word sounded like a painful, reluctant confession dragged out by a slow torture. Even still, Jaime doubted Selwyn’s confession was rooted in any truth.

“I would fall down on my own sword if it could guarantee my daughter’s happiness. I would. All I ever wanted was to protect from her hurt...and I can't.” Selwyn’s voice wavered for a moment. Turning his face away, the Lord of Tarth cleared his throat with a brusque sigh. “I can't change her; I can't fix her. I wish…” Selwyn’s drawn face turned into the portrait of a father’s tireless love.

For a long time neither one spoke; as the Lord of Tarth rubbed the bridge of his nose with his fingers Jaime remained silent; he was stunned by something the Lord of Evenfall just said. “My lord...Brienne’s happiness is all I want as well.” Selwyn might have felt moved by Lannister’s words, but he didn't show it. Instead, he chose to stare down at the Kingslayer’s boots with distant, hazy eyes. A dry, bitter laugh started to well up inside of his thick chest.

“Believe me when I say that I'd rather have a hedge knight with the foulest dregs of honor to marry my daughter before you could. But you did something that I thought was impossible, ser: _you_ , of all people... _you_ made her happy.”

The crash of the distant waves underscored the silence that fell between them. Lord Selwyn threw Jaime a false, cunning smile as he finally spoke to him in a breezy, casual tone.

“I will see your bloated corpse wash up on the shores of Casterly before you abandon my daughter with your bastard at her breast.” A flash of cold sweat started to gather on Jaime's back while the Lord's voice dropped down by an octave. “I will not have the likes of you profane the honor of Tarth.” Jaime tried to ignore the sweat that was gathering in his palm as well. With his back teeth clenched down together, the Evenstar’s voice growled out his last words in firm conclusion.

_“You two are getting married.”_

Selwyn of Tarth expected many reactions from the Kingslayer once he said those pointed words: he easily imagined anger, disgust, annoyance or even disappointment to cross Lannister’s handsome face. Nothing prepared him for what he saw next; he saw a true and genuine smile spark to life on Jaime’s face. He never expected that reaction from him—from any man really—let alone a proud man such as Lannister. Perplexed, the Evenstar felt off kilter while he grappled for words he never thought he’d get to say.

“This—pleases you?”

Jaime closed his mouth into a thin line of respect but his eyes danced with a true mirth. “If she’ll have me, my lord...nothing would honor me more than to bind my life to your daughter’s.”

It was a truly stunning moment for the Lord of Evenfall. Dragging a hand over his numb face, Selwyn blinked hard with dullard's eyes, feeling completely disarmed by Lannister’s sincere joy. “If you are japing with me, ser…” Jaime blanched. “I would _never_ mock my love for Brienne.”

Selwyn’s forehead wrinkled in slow confusion; he couldn't help but notice that Jaime used the word ‘love’; it was so rich and sincere. The Evenstar felt about as thick as a castle wall just then. Stepping closer to the Kingslayer his expression maintained a skeptical look in his eyes before he continued, slowly.

“My daughter is a strong woman; she may know how to fight, and she is relentless—willful, stubborn. But don't ever forget that in spite of everything you’ll assume, she still has a woman’s heart.” With that, Lord Selwyn slowly turned his heel on Lannister and made way to his horse.

Jaime was baffled; unbidden, he called out to the Evenstar’s back in a hard voice that burned with conviction. “She may have a woman's heart, my lord, but she is braver than any man I've ever known.” Selwyn froze. “It’s because she possesses such a gentle heart is what makes her so brave.” The Lord of Evenfall blinked again as he slowly turned back around, this time with a creeping tendril of respect rising for the Kingslayer. Jaime continued.

“Brienne fights and protect and holds onto vows when she doesn't have to; she persists when no one encourages her. Her honor is impossible, her morals are noble, and it’s her gentle heart that has the courage to love when all she’s known is pain.” Waiting for a reaction, Jaime suddenly felt annoyed by the Lord's stunned expression. Quickly running his fingers through his hair Jaime suddenly blurted out a question that long plagued him.

“Why wouldn't you let her sing for you?” Selwyn’s face paled in a whiplash of confusion. “When she was little, all Brienne wanted was to sing for you.” Jaime’s face started to fold with heartbreak. “Your daughter… _your only child._ You were all she had left in this world, and she wanted to sing for you. And you _despised_ her for it.” The Evenstar’s mouth parted with an objection, but he never spoke; instead, his wide shoulders began to fall with the sad grace of a felled tree. After a while he finally spoke, each word staggered out of his mouth in a thick wash of shame.

“Because—” Selwyn's voice burned low and hollow. “...because her song is a perfect copy of her mother's.” He tried to clear his throat but to no avail; thick tears started to collect, but he managed to blink them back. “I’m not proud in admitting it, but I spent years trying to bury the memories of my wife, but when Brienne learned how to sing...” He stared at Lord Selwyn for a long time while his tired voice started to fade. Jaime was amazed, baffled even; he suddenly realized that he felt pity for this proud and wounded lord.

“My lord...It’s not Brienne’s fault.”

It felt as if though it were the first time Selwyn saw Jaime Lannister. In him, he found someone who was earnest, someone who had the unmeasured capacity to love his child. But still, fear lingered in his heart like an icy chill that shuddered and flinched.

“If you ever hurt her…” Selwyn’s voice dropped down to a low and gravely defiance. “If I ever find out about it...I will hack off your damned limbs and toss you into the sea just to watch you drown.” Jaime tried hard not to blink; instead, he quirked his lips off to the side with an impish grin before he smiled back as a challenge.

“Done by you? It would be an honor, my lord. But that will never happen.”

The Evenstar’s blue eyes narrowed in on him as a final test of his integrity. “Is that a solemn vow of yours... _oathbreaker_?”

Jaime did not flinch. “It's worth more than a vow, my lord: it's the truth.”

Something deep inside of the Evenstar’s heart began to turn in favor of Jaime just then. With a restrained nod in secret approval, the proud lord of Tarth felt at ease once he slowly turned back around to mount his horse.

“My lord?” Selwyn looked back at Jaime. To his surprise he found his handsome face to be flushed red with a steely determination.

“You're at liberty to say whatever you’d like about me…but I will not abide hearing you criticizing Lady Brienne. _Ever_. She may be your daughter, but she is to be my wife.” Lord Selwyn’s mouth almost fell open; he was left speechless while Jaime made his way closer to him. “There is nothing wrong with her; there is nothing about her that needs to be fixed. I want her, _just as she is_ , and I wouldn’t have her in any other way.”

It was a strange notion; when Lord Selwyn of Tarth first laid eyes on Jaime Lannister, he was prepared to hate the Kingslayer with every breath in his body. Today he breathed in a new air; it was a springtime breeze that lifted his heart inside a weightless joy. He was thrilled to realize that his most precious wish had finally come true: he knew with certainty that his daughter would know happiness now; he knew with certainty that his daughter was loved by a good and honorable man.

Without another word, Lord Selwyn gave Jaime a final of nod of respect before he quickly turned back around. As he sat astride his mare, gently kicking his heels to its sides with a soft command, the Lord of Tarth rode in haste from the cove without a glance backward. He was determined not to have Ser Jaime see his beaming smile.

\-------------------------

Brienne looked down at the lit match in her hand with a look of cynical amusement. To her left, next to the handsome river stone fireplace was a large, neatly stacked wall of cured logs waiting to be burned.

There was a time when every fire they tried to make felt like a struggle. Those were hard, desperate days when kindling was essential, dry wood was precious, and the thinnest scrap of a flint became hallowed and sacrosanct.

Watching the small flame burn down the length of the matchstick, Brienne held on to it for as long possible before it threatened to burn her fingers; she tossed it into the waiting fireplace with a distant gaze and a slow forming smile.

Firewood was a nightmare for them in the beginning. They quickly learned to plan ahead, salvaging any dry wood that could be found inside of abandoned wagons scattered along the roads. They’d frequently salvage fire blistered lumber from destroyed homesteads and abandoned establishments as well. Other times they purchased dry wood from hamlets and townships, even bartering for some from a cottage or two if they weren't able to purchase shelter for the night.

“Come back to bed, love.”

Brienne eyes turned bright once she heard his voice. Behind her, on a bed made of soft furs and feather pillows, Jaime looked up at his lady with a sleepy smile. As the wood took to the flame, she pulled off her sleeping tunic and crawled back into their makeshift bed. As soon as her head touched the pillows, Jaime engulfed her entire body between his cozy arms and his strong legs. 

It still felt strange for them to sleep on a feather mattress every night. By then, they were used to sleeping either on the frozen ground or straw on mattresses throughout their travels. Although they had the luxury of a feather bed on occasion, it was not something they could often afford if they wanted to make their coin last. But once they settled into Tarth, they had a hard time falling asleep in so much comfort. Although it seemed odd, they decided to make a small pallet on the stone floor next to the fireplace. Sometimes old habits die a hard death.

Hours passed. Lying on their sides, spooned up close together, Jaime felt a quiet joy hum throughout his soul; Brienne was singing a song to him in her sweet voice. With the back of his head tucked beneath her chin, she ran gentle fingers throughout his hair, brushing away his gold and silver mane from his face. Jaime purred in delight as she shifted closer towards him, savoring the feel of her small breasts pressing up against his bare back. Reluctantly, his lazy green eyes cracked open once her song had ended; he stared at the flames in the hearth for only a moment before closing them again; he spoke to her in a soft, mumbled voice. 

“Fire’s dying.” 

Brienne hummed her understanding into his neck but she did not stir; instead, she planted a sweet kiss beneath the lobe of his ear. Though there was a large pile of wood neatly stacked beside the hearth, neither one felt a compulsion to get up.

Daylight hours passed through the hazy blue corridors of a gloaming evenfall. As they held one another, they shared a little joke between them: one would comment to the other that the fire was dying but neither one bothered to move. As the fire began to wither down to ruby-gold embers, a simple thought crossed Brienne’s peaceful mind.

“What if our vows were never worthy of anyone else?” Jaime’s green eyes started to flutter wide open. “What if we were to make each other our only vow?”

Jaime thought about her question for a while as the remainder of his right arm reached out behind him to stroke Brienne’s thigh. He considered all of the oaths he’d sworn to keep as a knight and a member of the Kingsguard. He once made a vow to protect a mad king as he raped his wife, slaughtered innocents and tried to level a city to ashes. He thought of an oath Brienne once made, promising to uphold her vows to a dead woman by finding and protect her missing child...but to only watch her oath shudder to ashes when Stoneheart demanded Jaime’s blood instead. 

How can an oath be considered worthy when you have to forsake one vow for another? How an oath be of any merit if the protection of one can be easily forsaken at the cost of another? 

With a contented sigh, Brienne turned over to burrow her face close to Jaime's neck once the last embers had guttered out. With a lazy kiss on his chest, she smiled in spite of the cold darkness that surrounded them.

“I vow that my love for you will know no end. With this day, to my last...my heart belongs to you. Always.”

All of the air was sharply pulled from Jaime’s lungs. As he smiled, he pulled his wench closer to his chest and gave her mouth a deep and soulful kiss before he spoke.

“And I vow that my love for you will know no measure; it’s boundless and wild. With this breath, to my last, my heart is your possession...always.”

As if it were a consecration to their vows, a gale force wind rattled the heavy shutters over the windows while a dull roar of lashing rains and hailing sleet pummeled the roof above. “Will you accept the tenuous vows of a Kingslayer...an oathbreaker, _wench_?”

Brienne pretended to give his question any serious thought. After a while, Jaime started to laugh while she slowly draped her body over his with a darling grin. As her full lips ghosted over his, Jaime smiled while she purred out her answer to him moments before they kissed.

“Yes: it’s the vow of a kingmaker; it's the vow of my oathkeeper.”

Outside of their cottage, the winds howled, the rain was punishing, and the sleet was freezing. Inside of their cold room, the fire may have died out, but they still managed to make a perfect fire of their own.

There was a time when Jaime and Brienne were little more than two broken and lonely souls that wandered the earth, wounded and dejected. Eventually, they had figured out that even though they were broken, they were somehow perfectly broken for each other. Alone they were fragile and bereft, but together they were healed and strong. They managed to fill in all of the broken shards of each other's fractured lives; their lives together were a perfect fit. Together they were made whole.

In the days that followed it would be strange for them to remember that they once thought their lives would only find meaning if they died on the field of battle; they thought that their greatest happiness would only be found in the violent throes of a bloody death.

But death is easy and far too simple. Everyone will greet their end one day; and for us all, death is a lonely journey, one which we will have no choice but to embark on our own.

And so, Jaime and Brienne did what was hardest: they lived.

And in the long, abundant years that they shared together, they’d come to realize that their happiness was not a destiny written in blood and penned by steel. Together they learned that happiness is only real when shared.

The end.

**Author's Note:**

> You have all been so patient and lovely to me. Honestly, its kindness and support like yours  
> that nourishes the soul. I've been very blessed to have all of you with me on this strange journey. 
> 
> Thank you.
> 
> Thank you for your comments, kudos and support.  
> But most importantly, thank you for reading.


End file.
